


What No Man Wants to Lose

by firefright, Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character(s), Team Defiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Getting a call from Slade's new team, Defiance, saying that they need his help in rescuing Slade is not the call that Dick expected to get on a random Tuesday morning. But rescuing is what he does, especially when it's a team of young heroes asking. The fact that it's Slade in need of rescuing? Well, that's different, but it doesn't change anything.





	What No Man Wants to Lose

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This came about as a result of both our fondness for the recent plotline in Deathstroke of Slade trying to make it as a hero, and our enjoyment of the idea of him being the damsel in a situation for once and Dick having to rescue him. Hope you enjoy XD

_“We need your help to rescue Slade,”_ is definitely not a call that Dick’s expecting to get on a random Tuesday morning.

But since he gets it, and since it’s Wally the younger calling (and with a distinctly panicked edge to his speech), Dick puts his shock to the side and heads for the base Slade’s team has been calling home. A good portion of it is now in a still faintly smoking pile of rubble, and when the plane (Bruce’s; it’ll fly back and he’ll barely miss it) drops him off on top of it the whole thing creaks a bit alarmingly. Still, picking his way across unstable rubble is one of his most practiced skills and he makes it to the intact part of the base without a problem, where only moments after he’s stepped foot on the slightly soot-stained carpet there are suddenly people spilling out to meet him.

Wally and Tanya at the front, with Rose, Joey, and an irritated looking Adeline hanging back some. Dick almost misses Terra behind the rest of them, with how she stays leaning in the doorway. He offers Wally a squeeze of the shoulder and Tanya a nod since she’s further away before pushing everything towards business.

“What happened?” he asks, with a flick of his hand towards the rubble.

“An explosion,” Rose comments with a sharp sarcasm that Dick is convinced she took directly from Slade.

Wally adds on, “He was walking out of the room and the second he went past the door it all went up. We found—” a blur of motion, there and gone and then back again “—these on top of all of it.”

Dick takes the two items Wally’s handing to him. An original version of the Deathstroke mask, black and orange, and a distinctly not charred piece of paper with an elegantly scrawled message on top. _‘What does no man want but no man want to lose?’_

Riddler. What’s he doing this far from Gotham?

“A lawsuit,” he answers out loud, turning the mask and note over in his hands to see if there’s anything else obvious about them. There’s not. “That’s a bit nonsensical. This was it?”

“Yeah, google told us that one,” Terra drawls.

“That was it,” Tanya confirms.

He nods, decides to ignore Terra’s comment for now. “Thank you. Do you have a lab in here, Power Girl? A good one? Ideally not in the destroyed section?”

“Yes, sir.” She looks a bit surprised to be directly addressed, and he offers her a smile to try and get her to relax some.

“Good. You come with me, I could use a second pair of eyes to go over these with. Riddler can’t help leaving clues, so all we have to do is find them.” He lifts his head, finding Adeline to the side of her son. “Adeline, would you walk the rest of them through getting this area secure again, and maybe partially cleaned up? Take a run through for anything else that looks even slightly out of the ordinary too.”

She only gives him a curt nod, but Dick decides to take that as acceptance. Even if it’s not, at least the rest of them know the plan now.

“Great. Let’s get this solved.”

* * *

Leading Slade's team, 'Defiance,' feels bizarrely like leading in some mixed version of the Titans teams. Some, like Tanya and Wally, are young enough that Dick feels sharply responsible for keeping them safe, and that's very familiar, but other bits are familiar too. Joey's independence and push to do what he wants (especially against the wants of his dad) reminds him pretty distinctly of Roy or, frankly, himself. Technically, according to Adeline, it is supposed to be _Joey's_ team, even if Slade mainly co-opted it. Though what she expected, letting Slade ‘create’ a group of heroes in his mission to reinvent himself…

Despite that, and to his surprise, the only member of the team that doesn't immediately volunteer to go find Slade after they work out Riddler’s clues is Terra. All the others join right into his mission, practically refuse to be left out of it even, and Dick admits that he's glad for the help. Riddler isn't usually all that difficult if you know what you're getting into, but then Riddler shouldn't have the tools or ability to take down Slade in a single explosion. Combining that with the bizarre first riddle (a _lawsuit?_ ) makes Dick think that there’s something bigger and nastier at play here than just one Gotham villain randomly playing out of bounds. Something specifically targeting Slade, and anyone that can get away with targeting Deathstroke is someone Dick isn’t positive he wants to go toe to toe with.

The answer to that suspicion comes from Wally, who admits in a sudden rush that he'd heard a guy talking to Slade mention something about being summoned by 'The Society.'

Dick doesn’t let any of his concern show to the rest of the team, but he spins that name around all the other facts and none of it combines in pleasant ways. This complicates things. If Slade’s been, for some reason, taken by a group of fairly high level villains… This team following him might not be enough.

Finding the place takes some time, even following the answers to Riddler’s clues. No one backs out on the way there, and that worries Dick almost as much as he's grateful for it. He spends a couple extra minutes talking to Rose and Joey and making sure that they know to keep an eye on their younger members. Ideally they can get in, free Slade, and that should even up the fight pretty well. Ideally. At least he knows for sure that the Society is down a member; Lex is pretty firmly trying to play the hero route these days, and he’s heard some things from Bruce about Killer Frost too. It won’t be easy, but Slade’s a one man army. They can do it.

Dick opts to go first, pushing his way into the meeting room with escrima in his hands and his jaw set tight while the rest of the team hang back and out of sight. No need to play all his cards right off the bat; if he can get Slade out of there without putting any of the rest of the team in danger, that’s the best option.

Most of the faces aren't a surprise to see here, but Raptor is. Organized groups like these really aren’t his scene, as far as Dick knows. Why’s he here?

On the side, Riddler is standing partially in front of Slade, who's strung up in restraints thick enough to look like they could hold just about anyone, head lowered and weight hanging limp against those restraints. Slade looks… worryingly incapacitated, actually. Maybe even unconscious, given he hasn’t reacted to Dick’s entrance and that he doesn’t seem to be making any attempt to get his weight on his feet. He’s still in his armor, but his mask and his weapons are gone, and there’s some sort of bag and IV line hooked up next to him with a rust-colored fluid Dick can’t identify. That could be a problem. If Slade can’t join them in a fight…

“Not to interrupt,” he calls into the room, meeting the gazes that turn his way, “but I’ve got a group of heroes who would like—” he lifts an escrima stick to point at Slade “— _him_ back.”

“Ah,” Vandal Savage says, the first to recover from the surprise of his entrance. “Of course.”

Around the rest of the table, reactions range from fear to anger to shock. Raptor smirks, which doesn’t surprise Dick one bit. His is far from the most interesting reaction, however.

A man Dick recognises from some of Bruce’s files as being Deadline, an assassin who calls himself by the grandiose title ‘The Human Weapon’, points at him across the room with the arm that doesn't seem to currently end in a bandaged stump. “See!” he cries accusingly, “See! If that doesn’t prove my point, nothing does! The heroes came to save him. You know why?” He looks around the room, but no one responds. Savage in fact, looks bored. “He’s one of them!”

“This tribunal has already reached its verdict, Deadline.”

Tribunal? This was meant to be some kind of _trial_? That would explain the ‘lawsuit’ bit, he supposes.

It would be funny if it weren’t so serious.

“The wrong verdict!” Deadline is continuing to shout. “Deathstroke owes me. And I want payment in blood! Otherwise, I’ll—”

Dick whistles sharply to call the room’s attention back to him. “Hey!” He waves at them, escrima in hand. “Wasn’t kidding over here. You’ve all got about ten seconds before I call in the troops to haul you all to Belle Reve.”

Eobard Thawne, the Reverse Flash, snorts in amusement. But again it’s Savage who answers, easily the one who’s in control of the room. “As adorable as that attempt would be, in this case it is hardly necessary.” He waves a hand in Slade’s direction. “We are done with Deathstroke, Nightwing. You may take him, if you want him.”

“The hell they wi—” Suddenly, the attention of the entire room is on Deadline. Dick stiffens in response to the sudden dangerous, almost predatory tension in the air. Deadline recognises it too, because he shuts right the hell up, bowing his head and taking a step back.

“Reparations will be made. But we will discuss them after present company is departed.” Savage’s eyes meet Dick’s. “Go now, Nightwing. No one will stop you.”

“Release the restraints and I’ll do so gladly.” They have to be locked on there somehow if they were trusted to keep Slade contained, and he's not about to make a fool of himself in front of all the power accumulated here.

Savage turns his head, and suggests, "Riddler, give the hero a hand, would you?"

Dick doesn't think Deadline could be scowling any harder, but he certainly gives it a try. Maybe at the whole 'hand' reference, which Dick might smirk at if the situation wasn't as tense as it is.

Riddler steps up right to Slade's side, reaching up towards the metal locked around his arms. After a moment, and no aggressive moves from anyone else in the room, Dick follows him over. He keeps one escrima drawn but sheathes the other, opening up his dominant hand in case he needs it. Honestly, to drag Slade out of here he's probably going to need both hands and pretty much all his strength, but he'll make that judgment when he needs to.

When he gets there, Riddler is pulling free the IV line, the point dripping that rust-liquid to the floor, along with a bit of blood. Dick's nose wrinkles automatically at the sharp chemical smell that reaches him.

"What is that?" he asks, glancing at the bag again before returning his attention to Slade. Eye shut, jaw tense, breathing strained but relatively deep and steady. He's conscious, but whatever they've done it’s incapacitated him further than pretty much anything Dick's seen before. It must have something to do with that liquid; a chemical counter-agent to his healing factor, maybe? A particularly potent sedative?

Riddler opens his mouth, grin already in place, but then suddenly Raptor speaks from closer to where the rest of the Society is gathered. "Drain cleaner."

Dick doesn't imagine the amused, malicious edge to that answer, and even before he looks back to find Raptor smirking at him he knows the answer is purely for his benefit. He doesn't really believe that Raptor cares about Slade enough to go after him, but using all of this to get underneath _his_ skin? In a heartbeat.

He stalls out. He can't find a response.

 _Drain cleaner?_ That would kill any normal human; burn them from the inside out. With Slade, it's hard to say. He's not dead yet, but that kind of toxic build up could be deadly even to someone with a bit of meta in them. Who knows how long that IV's been in? How much of that stuff is in Slade's system? _Christ_ , this isn't just some trial, this is a vendetta. Revenge. Even if it's not deadly to him, having something that caustic in your veins would be… agony. Beyond agony. This is deliberate, calculated torture.

"You _monsters_ ," is what ends up coming out of his mouth, in a sharp hiss of sound. "What the hell did you expect to get out of him while you've got nearly literal acid in his veins?"

Riddler keys the restraints open. Dick shifts forward in a quick burst of motion as Slade starts to fall, and his teeth clench together as the weight hits his shoulders. He doesn't quite stagger under it, but he has to plant his feet and sling his arm around Slade's waist to take the force without falling himself. It's not as much as Bruce while he's in the suit, and he's taken that before; he can handle this. If he needs to fight… Well, Slade will survive getting dropped.

"Monsters?" Vandal repeats, with a thin smirk. "Is that what we are? Hector, why don't you show Nightwing the kind of man he's crawling into bed with?"

Dick flinches back half a step, gaze snapping to the oversized telepath as he automatically braces, drawing up mental shields and—

The shout dragged from his throat is raw and aborted, his teeth slamming together to cut it off as power slams into his mind like a truck. Before he can blink, before he can draw more than a sharp breath and try to stabilize, it's leeching into the cracks in his wall, sliding bits further into his mind and—

The flashes of memory are vivid but removed, from third party perspective as he watches Slade break free of the restraints and and kill each member of the Society, one by one. The slash of a sword, a blast of power that melts right through Hector's head; blood and death and _murder_ in every flash. Even when Vandal's voice says, like an echo in his head, _"All charges are hereby dropped if you go **now**." _ The trident through his chest is a pretty straight refusal of that offer.

He's released. Dick draws in another sharp breath, realizing the invasion only lasted a couple moments, that the Society is watching him with varying shades of amusement and irritation. He shores up his shields regardless, training finally clicking into place with the extra moments to stabilize himself. He was taught by J'onn himself; not many people can break his shields once he has them in place. At least, not without some serious effort.

Still, the forced memory lingers at the forefront of his mind. Slade… killing all of them. No hesitation, no pause or attempt at an alternative method. Refusing the option to leave, when it was given. He knows it can't have been real — the restraints were still on when he got here, and Slade is in no condition to fight any of them, let alone all — but it was true _somehow_. He knows, without needing to ask, or confirm, that Slade did make those choices. That was really him. Whatever… hallucination or mind game it was, it felt real to Slade.

"Still want to take him?" Vandal drawls, as Dick struggles not to show how he's been affected by the experience. "No one would blame you for leaving him behind, Nightwing. Tell your team that the threat here is too great; we'll return him once he's finished repaying what we decide he owes, and you can go back to your life."

Dick hesitates, and the moment after he realizes that he has he hates himself for it. Killing a group of villains after abduction and torture is hardly the same as a cold-blooded contract killing of some random person, and strange as it seems that's a step in the right direction for Slade. All that aside, he's being _tortured_. Rescuing him shouldn't rest on whether or not Dick agrees with his particular moral stance; leaving Slade behind is a cold, cruel move and he's _not_ about to do it. He'd never do it to Jason; Slade deserves the same consideration.

He fixes his gaze on Vandal, tightening his grip on Slade's waist and pulling him a bit closer and more firmly against him. "Whether I save someone from torture has nothing to do with whether or not they live by the same moral code I do. Excuse me."

Like he thought it might, pulling Slade along takes having both his arms free. He doesn't like putting away his other weapon, not with so many unfriendly eyes watching him, but he does it. Vandal promised he could walk out with Slade; he's planning on testing that promise. Slade's all but dead weight against him, but it's nothing he can't take with some effort. He's suddenly thankful that Slade's upgraded to the Ikon suit; it's a lot lighter than most other armor he could be wearing.

" _Torture,_ " Eobard scoffs. "Don't be dramatic, it's just a bit of a handicap."

Dick doesn't answer that. He's not interested in debating what qualifies as torture with a bunch of supervillains. He heads for the door, and despite Eobard's mockery and the way Raptor smirks at him, no one stops him. He makes it out the door.

It's a half-underground facility — small, more like just a meeting place or rest stop than any real base — and he left the team at the entrance of it, only a dozen or so seconds at a sprint and plenty close enough to come to his aid if needed. Because he's definitely not sprinting, it takes him closer to a minute. The main door whirs open as he approaches it (handy, they had to trick it open from the outside), and he pulls Slade through and out to everyone else.

Joey is the first to react, and the fastest since Wally doesn't immediately leap forward once they're spotted. Dick gives a nod of thanks as Joey takes Slade's other side, arm joining his around Slade's waist and supporting a good portion of his dad's weight.

"What happened?" Rose asks, falling into step behind them. "Is he alright?"

"It was some sort of trial," Dick answers, and then adds, "and I will tell you everything I know as soon as we're back on the plane and out of here. I don't want to still be here if the group in there decides to come out after us."

"I'll get it started," Tanya says, and rushes for the plane. Wally hovers somewhere in the middle, looking concerned but torn.

Rose is the one to shepherd him inside the plane, with Dick and Joey just a few seconds behind. The engine starts up as they get Slade moved in towards the back, laid out on a flat metal table that looks like it was designed to do exactly that, especially considering it’s got some basic restraints built in. No hero plane is ever really complete without medical safeguards; Dick's learned that over the years.

"I've got him," Dick promises, once the restraints are secure and as they start to lift off. "Take a seat; I'll watch him. Soon as we're on our way, I'll fill all of you in. Promise."

Joey doesn't look totally happy about that, but he does it. Dick braces himself against the initial drag of lift-off, keeping his feet with easy practice and keeping a careful eye on Slade to make sure that the restraints hold against it too. Slade's jaw is still tight, but other than that he seems completely out of it; semi-conscious at best.

Dick breathes out, and as the plane levels out he turns back to the team.

"So, everyone listening?"

* * *

It isn't until they're back in the base — it does look a lot better; Adeline did an excellent job — and Slade is laid out in his own bed that Dick lets himself relax slightly. He offers promises to stay with Slade until he wakes up, and stations himself next to the bed as the rest of the team either gets some sleep or jumps into helping Adeline sort out the remains of the base. He can play nursemaid, no problem.

But it's barely a minute after the door closes that Dick looks back to Slade and finds his eye open, silently watching. He jumps a little bit, he admits.

"Slade?"

He gets a small grunt that sounds like confirmation before Slade shifts, starting to rise up on both arms. One buckles underneath him, and Dick jumps forward to press both hands against Slade's chest and push him down. It's a little worrying how easily he goes. Dick gives one last, small push to try and communicate that he needs to stay down and then starts to strip his gloves off so he can get a read on Slade's pulse. It's fast, a little erratic as Dick holds his fingers to Slade's throat, but strong; that's going to have to do.

"Stay down," Dick murmurs, grazing his fingers up the sharp line of Slade's jaw to brush his hair back from his brow. There's sweat there, at his hairline, and that worries Dick nearly as much as the pulse. "You've got some pretty nasty chemicals in your blood; don't push yourself."

Slade gives a hard exhale, almost strong enough to be a snort. "Trust me, kid; I know." His voice is quiet, strained, but not weak in the way that Dick was expecting. A hand lifts, wrapping around his wrist before Dick can admonish the direct defiance of his order and sliding a gloved thumb against the back of his hand. "Appreciate you not leaving me behind."

Dick stalls for a moment, then breathes out a quiet laugh and shakes his head. "You were awake. The whole time?"

"Yes. You were more—” Slade grimaces, teeth clenching together before they part on a shaky exhale. Dick waits, his own jaw clenching in sympathy. The fingers around his wrist tighten, then loosen as Slade forces a deeper breath. "Safer," is the shorter answer. "For both of us."

"Better to not give them the option to interact with you, you mean? Yeah, I agree." He turns his hand, clasps it around Slade's and gives a gentle squeeze. "I wasn't going to leave you behind, Slade. I wouldn't do that. Besides, your team asked me to help save you; I wasn't going to let them down either. And speaking of, I'm going to go let them know you're awake. They're worried."

Before he can even move, Slade grunts, "No."

"What?"

Slade's grip tightens on his hand, holding him in place. "Kids don't need to see me like this."

Dick frowns. "None of them are going to think less of you because you've been hurt, Slade. Your pride shouldn't stand in the way of your kids knowing you're going to be alright, and I actually think it would help for them to know that you're still human under all of the rest of this. You don't need to be untouchable to be strong, or to be a dad."

His frown is met with Slade's own, eye narrowing and jaw setting together. But after a couple moments it softens a bit, easing back into a more blatant expression of pain and fatigue. "Fine, but not now. Soon."

"Alright," Dick agrees. "Deal. You doing alright?"

The grunt he gets is noncommittal. "There's drain cleaner filtering through my whole body. You been burned alive before?"

"Can't say I have."

Slade's eye closes, brow drawing into a deep furrow. "Wouldn't recommend it."

Dick lifts his free hand to brush Slade's hair back again, combing it away and trying not to dwell on how much pain Slade must be in. Instead, his mind focuses in on something Vandal said. Odd phrasing. "Slade," he starts, letting his fingers linger at Slade's temple, "there's something that Vandal said while I was in there. He said I was 'crawling into bed' with you. Do they…? Do they know that we…?"

"Occasionally fall into a bed and have intense, marathon sex?" Slade finishes, sounding surprisingly dry for his current state. "I haven't told anyone, kid, if that's what you're asking."

"So they don't?" he presses, trying not to wince at that description. It’s… more accurate than he wants to admit.

Slade sighs a breath, looking up at him. "That telepath was in my head, before you got there. Pulled up old memories from my past; hallucinations. It's possible he saw something."

That's not reassuring. His encounters with Slade were never supposed to be something anyone else knew about; they'd agreed. Or rather, he put that rule in place and Slade went along with it. It's just stress relief. If some of the Society knows, how long before other people pick it up? How long before he starts hearing it lobbed at him as an insult or a mockery during fights? (How long before heroes and friends start hearing about it?)

Slade shivers, drawing his attention back. The low grunt of pain is telling; he's seen Slade take all kinds of injuries with no sound, and hearing it now…

The hand on his wrist pulls, and Dick finds himself pitching forward before he's recognized the strength in the movement. He gasps, hands shooting out to brace as he falls half over Slade, one leg pulled partially onto the bed. "Slade, what're you—?”

A knee rises into his hip before he can finish the question, and this time he can't contain the yelp as Slade flips him over with a precise burst of strength and shove of that knee. He ends up on his back on the bed, eyes wide behind his mask as Slade turns towards him. He's still moving like he's weak, apart from that sudden burst, but the fingers around his wrist are tight enough to tell him that he's not getting loose without putting in some effort. His gaze snaps towards the door, then up to Slade, who's completing his movement and leaning down into him. If this is an indication of _sex_ , then no way. Not now.

"Slade—”

"Kid," Slade interrupts, and then seems to stall out for a moment. "Just… Just stay."

Dick stares as Slade's head settles down against his shoulder, free arm wrapping around his waist and just… holding him there. There's almost no force behind it, just the weight and he could get away from that easily enough. But Slade exhales against his throat, and Dick can feel the muscle contract on the arm over his waist, follows it with his eyes until they land on Slade's hand, curling tight enough into the sheets to tremble faintly.

Oh. Right.

He slowly lifts his free hand, tilting his head down against Slade's and running his fingers back through the locks of white hair. Slade shudders against him, breath coming out sharp. The inhalation is just as strained as the muscle in his arm; a fight against the chemicals eating him from the inside out. Dick feels his chest go tight in sympathy, and he closes his eyes and gently pulls his hand free from Slade's so he can lift it, letting it join the other to cradle Slade's skull.

"Easy," he murmurs, "easy. I'm here."

Slade snorts, but his words sound breathless. "Don't need you to coddle me, kid. I'll be fine."

Dick shakes his head a little bit, rubbing his thumbs into Slade's temples in slow, circular movements. "Sure, with time. You could be less of an ungrateful ass and just admit that you wanted this; you pulled _me_ down here, remember?"

"Not to act like I'm fragile," Slade says, and now it sounds more like a grumble. Dick can't help laughing a bit.

"Slade, you have _drain cleaner_ in your blood and you still flipped me like it was nothing. 'Fragile' never even entered my mind." He tilts onto his side, scooting a little bit closer to Slade. "You could have just asked though."

The shrug he gets is a small one, but it's something.

Dick flicks his gaze upwards in exasperation, but settles more firmly in anyway. "Yeah, alright. Well, you're welcome."

A minute passes, and Dick's long since stopped expecting any response, when Slade breathes, "Thanks, kid."

He doesn’t snort, but he does let one corner of his mouth crook upwards in a wry smile.

Yeah, typical.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic now has art! Check out the [totally-not-cuddling scene from Pentapoda!](https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/post/174713483533)
> 
> [Skalidra's tumblr](skalidra.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Firefright's tumblr](firefrightfic.tumblr.com)


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